One Hundred Drabble Challenge
by sian22
Summary: One hundred little snippets following NirCele's prompts...anything and everything in Arda, canon and non-canon. Men and maia, elves and uruks, not just Rangers for a change. :) Join in the challenge..see her profile page.
1. 1 Fire-Isildur

_Thanks to NirCele and LadyLindariel for starting this...please see NirCele's profile page for_

 _links to all the great drabbles that are posted as part of the community. Join in! Spread the word...  
_

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 _ **Prompt #1: Fire**_

It burned.

Hot as an ember, a tiny furnace at once as wild and scalding as the liquid fire of the infernal vent behind.

Bright gold and all the colours of an open flame it shone. Crimson red and saffron yellow, sapphire blue and white. The pain was exquisite.

Slowly it cooled and as it did the very metal hummed with pleasure, relieved it would not know the touch of the forge from whence it came. A dullest gold arose and the flowing words slept once more.

The pain receded but did not end. Diminished but not extinguished, banked like a bed of coals, it would live forever in his flesh.

One fire cooled. Another licked to life.

This time it ran, fast as a conflagration, hot and untrammelled through his blood. The ever more insistent tongues were fed not by air but ardor, by the deepest raw and yawning need.

 _Precious…._

He would, by its own device, not suffer it for long.


	2. 2-Pet (dark AU)

_Warning: this is dark and very much AU. I am playing on 'Pet' here as in a dog._

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 **Prompt#2: Pet**

The young man shifted uncomfortably with a clank and winced.

His belly was full with good red wine and rich dark meat, the soft velvet of the robe was a welcome change. He tried his best to not make a sound. It was warmer after all than the filthy rags but still not soft enough, biting into the bruises that bloomed purple and yellow like twisted passionflowers upon his body.

This was the pattern. Alternating smooth with rough. A dance: one step forward and two back. Submit. Accept. Go away and think on your decision in the dark recesses of the pit.

The light from the hundreds of blazing torches hurt his eyes. He blinked and dropped his gaze to the dish set at his feet. Fairy cakes. Gods they even remembered that.

A large and callused hand reached down to pat idly on his head. He grit his teeth, did his utmost not to flinch as it would only enrage _him_ more.

"Come, come. Why so quiet this lovely eve?" came a deep sonorous voice from up above. "I was just explaining to his excellency the exquisiteness of your verse. Surely you would not make a liar out of me?"

"Sire, I am sorry. I am tired that is all." A lie. They both knew it. Resistance might be allowed in the foetid dark but not in the shining marble hall.

The hand grabbed hard and jerked roughly at his chin. He found himself gazing into deep grey eyes he had once thought to follow. The band of gold upon a finger flashed, bright and alluring, the true master of his days.

"And _I_ am tired of this little game. Sing for me my noble Steward." said Elessar.

"Sing."


	3. 3-Transportation

_**Prompt#3: Transportation  
**  
This is more properly a hexadrabble :) Longer than I expected but Will's story wanted to be told.  
_

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The procession was an oddly quiet island in the storm of war.

In a world beset by sound and fury the slowly lumbering wains were incongruously peaceful: the quiet creaking of the wheels and light jangle of the harness were broken only by a frightened whinny at an errant flash of light or starting shadow.

The wounded men, all that could be saved from that terrible morning's rout _,_ were mostly silent _._

The small group of horseman rode escort, for though the Enemy had not yet won through the Rammas Echor it would not be long before Orcs like lines of beetles swarmed the golden fields. One rider, clad in shining white, wound back and forth along the line unceasingly. At each pale face Mithrandir would pause to say a quiet world or touch a hand, give succor where he could. His staff and robes glimmered like the pale light of morning that had not come.

So many wounded and they needed every man. The wreck of the Causeway Forts that dawn had been a blow but nigh almost certain. They were too few.

The men fought had hard, had given their all for their beloved Captain but heart alone could not outweigh the numbers: the great black tide that poured in upon them. A quarter of their force now lay pained and silent in the carts. Some paced beside with help and might yet see battle another day but most-most would take days or weeks to be hale enough to fight. Mithrandir sadly shook his head. " _'Today we may make the Enemy pay ten times our loss at the passage and yet rue the exchange."_ So Faramir had said and so they had. The proof lay beside him now.

All through the brown dusk of that evil morn he kept a wary eye to skyward. He would not let the Enemy assail them once again. They could not afford to lose another single man.

"Mithrandir?" A hoarse and breathy voice rose up beside.

The wizard looked down and there, pale and sweating from his pain, lay a young gravely injured Ranger. Blood-soaked bandages were wound about his waist and thigh and a deep gash marred a young beardless face. The lad raised a hand to pluck urgently at a white shining sleeve.

Mithrandir recognized the boy. He was one of the new recruits. 'Will' was the name Mablung had given him as the lieutenant had gently laid his young friend down. _"Watch him for me Sir. He's saved my hide this day. I owe him a few rounds at t'Kine before the day is out."_ The Lieutenant's joking smile was broad but his eyes were grim. He too had seen the mess a pike had made of the Private's abdomen.

At one with his rider's thoughts Shadowfax slowed at once. "Yes, young Will? Can I help?"

"Please Sir, is it easy to find the Road?"

The wizard looked down with a puzzled frown. Poor boy, the last thing he needed was to be worried they could not find their way. He schooled his features to a gentle smile and willed his staff to shine a little brighter for a moment.

"No trouble at all lad. The sky may be dark but I can see the path before us and the shine of Ecthelion's Tower through the gloom. We will be at the Gate before too very long."

 _But perhaps not soon enough_ he thought looking on the unhealthy sheen to the young man's skin.

There came an uncomfortable rustle as Will tried to raise his head. "No Sir, t'weren't what I meant. The Road. Qalvanda. How will I know it when my time has come? I would not miss it. Become caught in some never land and not make it to Namo's Halls."

 _Nienna, Lady of Mercy._ The boy feared to miss the Road of Death. _Oh lad._

Mithrandir looked long into the pleading eyes and saw all too well where Will was bound. The thought of the young man's anguish tore at his heart. Surely it could not be wrong to speak of what he Knew.

"You cannot miss it Will. It is clear and bright and straight and there are sentinels to guide your way." _Who before this day is done will shepherd all too many on their Road._

The pained shoulders lay back down again and the young man coughed, his breath came in shallow, rapid pants. "Aye, then Sir that is good. I hope it is enough. My mam would say I could miss even the road beneath my feet."

The White Pilgrim reached out a gnarled but steady hand and clasped a limp, clammy one. Skin to skin, warmth to fading cool, he felt the ebb tide in the soldier's blood. In truth it would not now be so very long.

 _Master, just this once._ There would be so many more such moments in the days and weeks to come and he could help too few.

A breeze with the warm sweet scent of laurinquë, of Valinor, brushed gently on the soldier's brow. For the briefest moment he let his other Form shine forth. Before them the image of a silver ribbon ran straight and true above the Sea.

 _Come Will. Hold my hand and I will set you safely on your road._


	4. 4-Plants: Aragorn

_Oops..a little longer than a drabble..a pentadrabble...or so._

 _T.A. 2978 Dol Amroth_

Then as before his footfall was not quite lost, there was the faintest crunch of gravel upon the graceful path.

The dark-haired beauty upon the bench turned to look. Her mantle of deepest blue was crowned at throat and hem with silver stars of mithril thread. They caught the moon's silver light and twinkled as she moved. Beside the smooth white stems of the aspen grove glowed softly. The trembling new green leaves whispered a promise to the rising breeze.

His vision swam. The soft peeling paper bark of snow-white birches glowed in the light of another Mayday moon. A slighter maiden sat, a twilight star of fading memory, dark hair straying in wind and brow bound with gems like stars.

 _Though my doom will be not unlike hers…_

His vision broke. Aragorn shook his head and there Finduilas of Dol Amroth sat, not beneath the groves of Rivendell but in the grand and formal gardens laid by her grandmother. The warm sea air held the tang of salt and the soft song of courting tree frogs peeped in the moist and velvet night. _So far. He had come so far._ The yearning for the cool and silence of a hidden vale pierced hard within his breast.

The lady looked up and smiled. From the palace the strains of lute and viol and rippling laughter drifted languidly on the air. The night's revelry had not passed and he was not the only one escaping from the throng.

The Dunadan sighed and strode into a patch of brighter moonlight. It would be churlish to leave her now however much he wished for solitude. "Lady Finduilas, I apologize for disturbing you."

The dark head inclined at his courtly bow. Her jeweled circlet of ijolite and adamant flashed briefly in his sight. "Nay, Captain. Please, do sit. I had tired from the dancing and merely wished to rest." With a rueful smile she placed a hand to her swollen side. "At least for a little while I will not be leading all the gaiety and all too soon we will return to my husband's home."

It did not take Sight to see what was in Finduilas' gracious heart. "You miss it, fair lady? The green about the Bay and its gentle rolling hills." he asked, sitting down on the carved stone bench. It was warm where she had sat. The white marble glowed faintly in the moonlight.

"Always." Her smile was bittersweet. Elegant fingers reached to pluck a white bloom from the bush beside, wound its stem through another already plucked. The sweet heady perfume of frangipani drifted up. "I come to fix the scent and space once more within my heart. It buoys me until I return."

He thought of silver groves and drifts of white Windflower. "Aye. I know that need my Lady. I love this garden for its trembling groves remind well me of my home."

The small bow-shaped mouth twitched and clear grey eyes sparkled once. "And where is that my Lord?"

 _Valar._ Distracted by the beauty of the night he had left an opening in the game they played. "North." He replied, grinning to grant a point for her ready wit.

The petite fair face mimed a disappointed frown. "You will ever remain a mystery, Thorongil."

"No mystery. My home is a valley green and crowned simply with silver birches. Where the song of drowsy nightingales and the scent of stocks drift upward in the eve." _Where walks a lady crowned by stars…_

The long fingers stilled upon the flower chain. A crown of glossy scented petals now sat complete upon the head of Lorien, his stone eyes gazing unseeing over the beds of nodding Asphodel. "Such a poet and you are not yet crowned."

It was Mayday. All about the Bay maidens gifted a crown of flowers to their betrothed or those they wished to court. As the night wore on Aragorn had found it harder and harder to duck the attention with easy grace.

"No my Lady… I am not free." Another slip. The grim visage frowned. What was it about the enchantment of this night that he could not keep his thoughts to himself.

Finduilas' clear grey eyes widened in surprise. Her sudden laugh chimed brightly like the seabreeze through the headland's reeds. "So many puzzled hearts within the hall and now I am keeper of your most dangerous secret."

He could not keep his face from softening. Sometimes even a fighting man needs to open the hidden spaces in his heart. "Dangerous… but so very, very fair."

Finduilas smiled and accepted his quiet gift. "You are trothplighted?"

Now the careworn features widened to a sad and wistful smile. "No. Her father has not accepted my suit just yet. "

"The renowned Captain Thorongil?!" Finduilas' low and honeyed voice was nigh incredulous. "Revered right hand of the powerful Steward of Gondor? Surely no man could doubt your virtue?"

His mouth quirked. _No man perhaps..but a Peredhil surely did._ They were straying into perilous territory and it was time he put her off the scent.

"Lady, was there ever a father who found his daughter's beloved to be of sufficient worth?"

"Perhaps not." She bent again to her craft. The picture of matronly seriousness was belied by the lingering gleam of mischief that lit her dove grey eyes.

He breathed a sigh of relief and let the easy silence stretch. Ithil's pearly dew spilled down the velvet night and played on the white flowers that wreathed Lorien's marble curls. The crown fair glowed in the shining silver light.

"Finduilas!" Denethor anxious voice carried on the gentle breeze. The lady looked up and sighed, glanced resignedly toward the terrace. "I should get back. He worries about me so these days."

Aragorn rose and gallantly offered an arm to help her up. Finduilas was not near her time but still the babe was large for her small and bird-like frame.

She squeezed his arm in gratitude. Reaching down, she plucked the finished wreath from off the seat. "Here my lord. A crown worthy of any man. Perhaps if your lady love were here she would see you in another light."

As the Dunadan's dark head bent to accept the gift, a shaft of argent light limned the soft white petals of the buds. Snow-white, the crown's radiance burned upon his brow.

He watched the vision veil her gaze, saw the wide dark pupils shorn of their grey and the tears glisten adamant on her cheeks. _She knew._

Finduilas, a true daughter of Mithrellas, had Seen. A king would come again.


	5. 5-Threats: Mablung and Finduilas

"I am leaving!"

Captain Mablung looked down in surprise at the dark-haired beauty who graced his doorstep. He had not quite finished shaving that sunny morn and stood, soapy brush in hand, pondering what to say. It was not every day that he had a princess come to call on his day off; this was a novelty. Looking on the thunder in her clear grey gaze it was not one he was entirely sure he wanted.

"You are my Lady?" He flipped the towel across his shoulder as he motioned her to come in. Finduilas, head held high, murmured a polite thank you as she stepped across the threshold. He struggled not to grin. She was dressed in a perfect copy of a Ranger cloak, all mottled greens and greys, and soft brown boots upon her feet. The wooden sword stuck through the knotted rope around her waist was long. It was obviously one of 'Bron's but not so long it would trip her up.

"I am," came the firm nod. "I want to be a Ranger _now_ and no one can stop me."

 _Ah._ Mablung set the brush and soap dish down, wiped the last of the foam off his chin and eyed Ithilien's princess with all the seriousness that he could muster. "And who's had the temerity to try?"

"Mama. She will not let me. She says I am not old enough." The little foot did not quite stamp. Finduilas was too well brought up for that. But it did not need to. The spectacular frown and flashing grey eyes told all.

"My Lady? Truly? I am shocked Princess. Surely she of everyone would approve?"

The fierce frown softened. She had found an ally and now a little sigh escaped. "I knew you would understand Mab. You always do."

The Ranger started fondly down on his Lord's pride and joy. Finduilas, with her delicate Dol Amroth beauty and her Hurin wit, had her father wrapped rather firmly around her elegant little fingers. She also had her grandfather Eomund's legendary temper. It always fell to her mother Eowyn to direct a girl who was truly a force of nature.

Gazing quickly out the window of the cottage, Mablung made a swift decision. It was early and only a few high scudding clouds had settled in the blue. _Aye then, time enough for a little jaunt._

Gathering up his leather jerkin and cloak, he took his sword-belt from its hook. _"_ Well then Private if we are leaving where shall we go? On patrol?"

"Of course."

"Then fall in Ranger, and pay strict attention to my orders. Who knows what dangers we shall face."

Before very long the Captain and his new recruit were wending their way through the thick underbrush of the woods behind the village. Mablung led, holding back the worst of the branches and showing Finduilas how to scramble under logs and over streams. She was of course a natural, fit and lithe like her father. He was quite impressed.

The sun was climbing steadily when the sound of a single bird call close behind made him freeze instinctively. In Ithilien of old it would have been a warning, but here, it could be just a bird. He placed a hand on Finduilas' shoulder and motioned her to still.

It came again and he had to hide the grin it pulled. It was the Captain's. Damned if his lord hadn't snuck up right upon his tail. So much for soft cushions on the council chairs: the Prince of Ithilien still had his Ranging skills.

Mablung pursed his lips and whistled back. _All well. Stand clear._

"What was that?" Finduilas whispered, eyes wide and her hand upon the wooden hilt. She cocked her ear and raised her brow at exactly the angle her sire did. It was uncanny.

"Now't, Private. They didn't answer. Not orc or man, just a bird we startled on our way. Best be a little quieter."

Finduilas obligingly hunkered low again and stepped with exaggerated care across a twig. Mablung smiled behind her back and absently plucked an early raspberry off a vine. He would hand the 'provision' round soon enough. They would take their time. Just long enough for real hunger to appear and the need for sleep.

After all the Princess was only three.

-  
,In my headcanon Eowyn and Faramir have 3 children, 2 boys, Elboron and Theomund; and Finduilas in the middle. Bright and headstrong she is a challenge but destined for great things once she gets the urge to go 'walkabout' out of her system. :)


	6. 6-Water: the River maid

She felt it. A shiver ran through the sand. A ripple danced in the river-withies as the startled fish, cool and silver, darted back below.

Something was amiss.

Slender as a willow-wand Siriel arose. Pads of lily clung to her weed-green hair and her eyes shone bright: green-gold as the sun upon the whorling eddies. She trod the sand of the river bar and across the flats the oystercatchers called. It had been long since she had left her favourite pools and the River's denizens rejoiced.

At the far north side Siriel found the pilgrim that she sought.

The boat, snow-white and shining, high-prowed, was one she had not seen for many Ages of the world.

It was stuck. Its keel had wedged into the sand and now the River's current pushed swiftly past. Binding it tighter to the shore.

She looked, but from where she stood, hid cautiously amongst the reeds, hair tangled with salt-drifted green and waving fronds, she could not see its guide. The little craft moved as if laden well but she saw none at the helm. Perhaps she should inspect.

Three swift strides and she stood beside the bow.

Inside a warrior slept, lapped by cool and shining water.

Fair of brow and proud as a Sea-Man of old he seemed. Below the surface of the floating pool many swords and axes glimmered at his feet and a broken hilt lay upon his chest. A belt of golden leaves glistened at his waist.

At first she took the pretty thing for the source of the water's radiance but she looked again. The beaten metal shone but it was yellow as the Sun. Her rays were not the colour that played within the River's tears. The light was silver: a memory of Telperion from when the world was new. That light shone forth from the three great rents in the armour on his chest.

 _Eru._

Slight and sure as a minnow, a small strong hand reached to hold the wood but then darted back. She was a servant, the River;s maid, she was not to interfere with doings of the Laterborn but oh she wished to free the little craft, to send the warrior on his way.

 _"_ _Siriel."_

Her lord's voice echoed from the deep. It rang, pure with the music of the rising tide and warm with the summer's swell. She trembled at the sound.

 _"_ _My Lord. Ulmo, forgive me. He-he seems a Man of worth. It would grieve me for him to not find his rest upon the eternal Sea."_

Through the soft sand she felt an aching sigh. The Lord of Waters grieved for the Children he so loved.

 _"_ _And so he shall. Send him on his way that I might honour him in my halls."_

She pulled and the bow breached the rippled bar. It split the eddy's verge and turned to seaward quickly once again.

She watched him go. Her song of farewell kept him company to the Sea's bright shore.

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Siriel, the River-maid of Anduin, appears in my fic "Where the Sun sails" .


	7. 27-Connecting the dots

Sorry this is out of order. :) and apologies...I have _no_ idea where this came from. *cheeky grin*

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Prompt#27 Connecting the dots

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Elboron raised his goblet to his lips and took a steadying sip of the dark red wine. Suddenly he felt grateful for his years of cards and games within the barracks. They had been good for more than fleecing 'Dari of his coin: he had a face of strict neutrality to call on when pressed.

 _Bema, that had been too near a thing._

A pretty blush crept up Ylena's cheeks. He tried to catch her sweet blue eyes, to smile at his new bride in sympathy but she kept her gaze firmly upon her plate. She was shy and did not know his family well, still less the King and Queen. The conversation turned to other subjects now that the disturbance was well past and so he let her be.

 _Thank heaven his mother had been discreet._

"My dear, you have something in your hair." Eowyn had murmured, leaning over to see the oddity in her new daughter-in-law's raven locks.

Elboron had sat transfixed, heart in his mouth, watching his mother reach for the stalk of straw.

Ylena gave a startled squeak but the Lady of Ithilien had only frowned in concentration and quickly pulled the offending item free.

"Just a leaf." Eowyn said, tossing the stalk amongst the fresh rushes on the floor. The other luncheon guests hadn't seen a thing. _Blessed Valar._ Ylena would die if anybody knew.

"Thank you, my Lady" came the stammered, heartfelt reply.

"Eowyn, please. Or mother if you prefer."

Elboron sat back and tried not to squirm, let the sound of happy relaxation swirl about the table. He pointedly ignored the wry and curious smile upon his father's face and turned with relish to the remainder of his food.

" _They're disgusting! They're doing it again…._ " Finduilas had long decried their parents' insouciant disregard for strict decorum. For 'Bron avoiding being caught in surreptitious games of footsie was just one of the things he had learned quite young. Like posting properly on a horse. Or exhaling on the strike.

Eowyn's gentle smile lingered for a longer moment and the young lord followed the direction of her sharp grey gaze out of the corner of his eye.

He caught a black eyebrow raised in query, the smile on his father's still handsome face and his mother's sudden flush. The Prince of Ithilien's wine glass raised an inch in a highly private toast.

Understanding slowly dawned.

Blankets and bales were not just handy things for newlyweds. There had always been another reason the tack room in their stables bore a lock.


	8. 7-Wind: Shadowfax

Prompt no 7: Wind.

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I am the lord of my desmesne

Of its wide sweet sea of wheaten gold

Of clear blue sky and snow-fed crystal stream.

Chieftain of a noble line that shall not come again.

.

I am my King's great grudging gift.

Quicksilver, mane flying 'neath a waxing moon

My stride eats the leagues and still I run.

Untamed by hand or halt or fear.

.

I am the White Pilgrim's faithful heart.

Unfaltering, o'er Shadow or shadowed trail.

My life's oath to fly, swift and fleet and true.

I am Shadowfax. I am the Wind.

.

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NYX...please excuse the doggeral..it was what happened w the prompt. (could be jet lag or afteraffects of Anna's party :) )

Tomatoes, concrit all gratefully accepted.


	9. 70-I am still here: Maglor

The second son receives his share of gifts. His grandmother's fine hands and his grandfather's courage. His father's restless mind and his mother's peaceful spirit. The dare of his uncles but none of their luck. He is his brother's steadfast servant. Anger is his birthright and music is his skill. Pity moves him, even as the song dies on his lips.

Beyond the strand of Eglarest he casts a burning shame into the Sea.

His many names in time are remembered only in the Hall of Fire: Makalaurë his mother-name and Kanafinwë for his father. The trembling trees whisper as he passes, unseen and unlamented, through a younger, wiser world. To the people he is but a story: a lesson to be learned. Not an ellon of flesh and blood and not the last of a cursèd line.

Ever after he walks the sun-lit glades of a new-turned Age and sings. Raises a voice as golden as the dawn to the fresh and innocence of each day ….

and tries not to regret too hard.

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with apologies to Altariel for the structure of the first paragraph. Leof's song fit so well. Thanks to Trebeka for the challenge of the prompt.


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